


Data Collection

by ChocoChipBiscuit



Series: Research is its own reward [2]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/F, Fluff and Smut, Science Experiments, Sex Toys, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2018-05-07 02:35:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5440292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocoChipBiscuit/pseuds/ChocoChipBiscuit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nora helps Curie achieve her first orgasm. For science!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Data Collection

Nora grips the headboard, white-knuckled and panting, hips arching to meet Curie’s mouth. Thighs clasped tight over Curie’s ears, but Curie’s synth body must be less fragile than it looks since she continues licking and applying that hint of suction that Nora _loves_ instead of complaining or prying Nora’s legs apart…

Nora cries out, high and sharp-- dissolves in waves of orgasm. Body like water, sensation washing all through her. Curie once told her that the human body was something like seventy percent water anyway. Feels like a return to the source.

“The best part of loving a scientist is that they want reproducible results,” she mumbles, endorphin-drunk and giggling at her own joke.

Curie beams at her, everything south of her nose a shining slick from Nora’s arousal. She kisses the curve of Nora’s belly, slipping two fingers through Nora’s folds and into the cleft of her body. Withdraws and parts her fingers, fluid webbing between them.

“Of course! When the results bring you such joy, how can I not strive to improve?” Curie says with a smile. Warm, gentle, a sliver of sunshine. Feels like a homecoming every time. “If it would be no bother, perhaps you can rate the strength of this orgasm?”

“It’s not a quantitative thing, Curie,” says Nora, fluffing her pillow and rolling over. Curie lies next to her, still wearing her pajamas. Nose to nose, soft flannel tangent to Nora’s naked curves, no less sweet that Curie’s chosen to remain fully clothed. Besides, that powder blue with the little teddy bear pattern is _adorable_.

Curie frowns, a tiny crease between her eyebrows. “But I have timed your stages of arousal, and it is most certainly something which can be quantified!”

“You-- have?”

“Yes.” Curie tilts her head, eyelashes casting butterfly-shadows across her cheeks. “I have a stopwatch which I press prior to our intimate encounters.”

Nora gapes, jaw falling. “And I never noticed?”

“You are usually most preoccupied with your own pleasures.”

“That means I’m a selfish asshole!”

“No! You are assisting with my research!” Curie insists, eyes wide and earnest. Like she wants to feed the hungry, heal the wounded, save the world, _and_ chart all of Nora’s climaxes.

Nora shakes her head, thumping her palm against her forehead. “What if-- what if next time, I try to please you?”

“But my friend,” Curie says, clasping Nora’s hands between hers like a childhood prayer, “I have witnessed your orgasm, and it seems quite delightful. But I am not certain I possess the same arousal patterns you do. I do not… how does Miss Cait say… I do not experience the ‘wet panties’ of independent arousal.” She frowns, lower lip protruding as she gnaws. “Do you think perhaps I have a flaw in my programming?”

“No, not at all,” Nora hastens to assure, squeezing Curie’s shoulders and leaning close. Eye to eye, curled facing one another with Nora’s toes hooked over Curie’s calf. “Look, if you don’t want to, that’s fine. That’s more than okay, I’m happy with what we got. I just want to make you feel good. And help your experiments,” she adds with a twang of conscience. “But if you just want to keep it to backrubs and cuddling, I’m okay with that too.”

Curie tilts her head forward, eyelashes brushing soft against the curve of Nora’s cheek. Breathes against her neck, stirs the cooling lines of sweat. Nora rolls her head, eye catching the half-chewed fingernail of moon visible outside the window. Watches the clouds scud across that sliver of light. One cloud, two-- slow breeze, though Nora can’t hear it over the gentle rattle of the turrets on the roof.

“I would be most amenable to trying,” Curie says, after Nora thought she’d fallen asleep. A long computational cycle, she supposes. “If I choose to terminate the trial early, would that be acceptable?”

“Of course.”

Curie smiles again, moon-sweet and silver in the dim light, and kisses the hollow of Nora’s throat.

* * *

 

Nora spends the next day disoriented, bombarded with questions and assurances from her friends and companions.

“Wait, so she asked… wait. She asked _all of you_ ‘what constitutes a satisfactory experience?’” she asks, bemused and befuddled. Or possibly amused; without caffeine, her mental gears are stuttering.

Preston pours her a mug of hot coffee, thick with chicory. “She is a very nice lady and I hope you both have a good time,” he says, stirring his drink so he doesn’t have to look her in the face. His hands shake, rattling the spoon against the ceramic. Piper helpfully wipes the table where the coffee spatters.

Cait spreads her first and second fingers in a V, miming an enthusiastic slobber. “Give ‘er yer betht!” she crows around her protruding tongue.

“Newer models and their genitals,” Nick mutters, chuckling as he pulls at his cigarette. Smoke seeps through the gaps in his face, his eyes turning it to yellow-lit fog.

Hancock grins ear to ear, rattling his tin of Mentats and flicking it in the air, catching with a flourish. “Shoulda got a load of what Danse said. ‘Discipline is the foundation of any successful relationship,’ my ass. We know what _he’s_ wearing under that tin can.”

“Please don’t say she asked Chin-Pubes for advice too,” Nora groans, pressing her forehead against the lip of the mug. The warmth soothes her budding headache.

“Nah, MacCready told her he didn’t wanna know nothing about what rattles your bed,” Hancock chuckles, coarse and gravelly. He pops a Mentat in his mouth, tilts the tin to Nora. She shakes her head and he shrugs, slipping it back into his pocket. “And hey! At least she didn’t ask Strong. Or Deacon.”

“Like he’d tell her the truth anyway. Small blessings,” Nora mutters, gulping the rest of her mug. The bitter scalds away the rest of her sleep-haze.

* * *

 

Curie sits at the edge of their bed, pert and naked with the lamp casting a cool glow over her skin. Ankles crossed and knees together, wriggling her toes against the frayed rug. A recorder in one hand, a fresh vase of long-stalked yellow flowers on the nightstand on her side of the bed. The scent is soft, dusty-- more herbal than floral, but Nora hopes the effort was appreciated.

Curie’s dimples flash brilliant in the small room. “Thank you for the flowers, my love. You do not mind if I make a holotape of this session? Because I would like to record for later, if permission is granted.”

Nora chuckles, sitting beside Curie on the pilling comforter. The mattress dips beneath their weight, spills Curie a little closer. Strange to be the clothed one now, Curie warm and supple beside her. Nora sets an arm around Curie, as much to balance as to touch. “I would like to listen too, honestly. I think it’d be hot.”

“Ah-- sexual response to memory of an encounter? Yes, and that could promote new possibilities for study,” Curie begins, but Nora interrupts with a shake of her head.

“Do you want to though? I mean-- I want you to feel good, sure. But if you’re not comfortable…”

Curie giggles, a small, bubbling thing that tingles through Nora’s chest. “Most certainly. It is an experience I wish to share with you. At least for one time.”

“Okay. Just let me know if anything changes,” Nora says, kissing high on Curie’s forehead, lips whispering across the hairline. She kisses a path lower-- temples, cheek, jaw-- and flicks her tongue, stippling warmth down the slope of Curie’s breasts.

“My dear Nora begins with kisses, mild oral stimulation against the skin. Haptic sensors are fully functional, and I experience the contrast of cold air after…” Curie dictates, and Nora pays attention with only half an ear.

Still so much Curie to explore, small as she is-- a compact delight. Fascinating to trace the ripples and stretch marks that Curie never experienced, and likely the synth previously inhabiting that chassis never had either-- but Institute defects, or Institute attempts at realism? Either way, Nora kisses the silver ripples across Curie’s thighs, squeezes the small roll of flesh that forms on Curie’s soft belly as Curie squirms, leaning forward. All precious, all watermarks. Nora flicks her tongue to Curie’s navel.

Curie squeaks and leans forward with a yelp. She’d be tumbling off if Nora hadn’t caught her in time. “I reacted with shock at the stimulation to my belly, but Nora recovered me before I inflicted injury upon myself,” Curie states, giggles spilling through her carefully-chosen words. “It tickled!” she protests at Nora’s raised eyebrow and cocked head.

“I theorize that Subject Curie has a sensitive tummy-button and deserves more kisses to test this…” Nora intones, pitching her voice low and sonorous.

Curie laughs, swatting her shoulder in protest. Limp wrist, no force to it. A simple puff of air over Nora’s shoulder, barely more than a pat of the fingers. “That is not a theory! It is a mere hypothesis!”

“I wonder,” Nora punctuates with kisses down Curie’s belly, “if I can get you so distracted,” she adds, an edge of tooth that makes Curie squeal, “that you forget all about your note-taking?”

“But my studies!”

“Experience! You must do more than merely collect data, you must experience the human, erm, experience,” she says, voice muffled as she kisses Curie’s knees. Wrinkles her nose at her own redundancy, sliding her hand between Curie’s legs and waiting for Curie to uncross her ankles. “I mean, I want to make you feel good, and I think pleasure’s a valid pursuit.” Kneels on the floor, jeans scuffing over the rug. Kisses behind the bend of Curie’s knee, hand wrapped around the fine bones of Curie’s ankle. “If you’re okay with that.”

Curie leans back on her elbows, soft smile and eyes deep as the ocean. “I am more than okay, my love. I am intrigued by your proposal.” Not fully lying down, using the pillow to prop her shoulders up so she can watch, but Nora likes that. If they could find a working camera… she swats that thought away, saves it for another time. After all, flowers wilt but pictures are forever.

Nora twines her fingers through Curie’s pubic hair, curls a piece between her fingers and tugs. Thinks about making a smart-aleck remark, decides better when Curie squeaks. Splays her hands over Curie’s thighs, thumbs on the soft outer lips and pulling out. Dips her tongue to the clit, nuzzles down and bumps with her nose, drinking in Curie’s scent. Warm, musky, some sort of softness to it that makes her think of papaya-- not that she’s ever going to get to smell or taste papaya ever again. But oh, Curie is a rare treat, and Nora is fiercely glad to have her.

Squeezes tighter, laps her tongue up over the clit. A direct line, elbows braced to keep Curie from wrapping those magnificent thighs about her head.

“She continues the stimulation across the clitoris and-- oh,” Curie’s voice breaks as she bites her lip, eyes squinting shut with either pleasure or frustration. Possibly both. “Appropriate stimulation generating a liquid response. Self-lubrication is… within normal parameters? I have a limited sample size, so perhaps for future endeavors I should--”

Nora has to stop, laughing into Curie’s leg. Wipes her mouth against the softness of her thigh. “If you ask Cait how much she lubricates, I want to be there. With popcorn.”

“My apologies, I am distracting from your task.” Curie sighs, crossing her wrists and setting them over her forehead. Chews her lips, peeking from under her lashes. Contrition writ in every line. “Please continue, I was quite enjoying that.”

Nora kisses Curie’s pubic mound, gets back to business. Tunes out Curie’s running commentary, paying attention to her body-talk instead. Curie squirms when she moves so, arches into Nora’s mouth when Nora softens her tongue, so Nora presses harder-- tongue flexed hard and pointed, flickers over Curie’s clit and picks up speed as Curie’s carefully-contained words fall to glittering shambles. Curie wriggles, one knee bent so her foot’s flat on the bed as the other dangles, breathing hard and heavy and Nora knows she’s coming because she ripples like a wave, like water, like her entire essence pouring across the bed and into Nora, a lingering sigh and body falling placid.

“Oh, that was-- _oh_!” Curie squeaks, thrashes as Nora continues, mouth gentle and relentless. Grips the pillow, panting as she squirms in confusion. More of a wobble, ineffective to either escape or draw close.

“You okay?”

“I was-- not expecting. You normally do not enjoy stimulation immediately after the climax, but that was quite nice.” Hesitancy shades those words. “Is this synth body over-sensitive, or…?”

Nora swallows her laugh, softens her tongue. Tries to couch it in clinical terms. “There is, uh, wide variation in sexual response. Some women can have multiple orgasms, and I figured maybe I could try with you.”

“Do you experience this multiplicity of orgasm?”

“Nah, or at least not real easily. With a vibe-- erm, vibrator-- I can, but it’s exhausting. I’d rather just have one really good one and be done.”

“Oh.” Curie chews her lip, releases the pillow. Steeples her fingers in concentration, then beams bright as a searchlight. “I would like if you continue. I think I will enjoy trying for the second orgasm.”

“That’s the plan, sweetie.” Nora kisses her thighs, wet lips a prelude. Kisses again on the clit, laps through the slickness coating Curie’s sex. More warmth and wetness, rolling her tongue and grinning unseen as Curie bucks towards her. Wraps her mouth over Curie’s clit, sucking hard and gripping her fingers into the fold of Curie’s thighs, dimpling flesh as Curie moans. Hard, intense-- maybe a little too much, so she backs off, concerned about sensory overload until Curie hisses, “No, please, continue, it is good,” through clenched teeth and Nora sucks for all she’s worth. Feels Curie break and waver all around her, calves tight and banging against Nora’s arms, Curie screaming in glorious, French-accented delight and the hard clatter of the recorder hitting the floor--

“No!” Curie wails, and Nora knows her cue to back away, scoop the precious device back up and hold it for Curie’s inspection.

Curie murmurs dismay at the chipped casing, taps her finger to pause the recording and hits the play-back mode.

_“My dear Nora begins with kisses, mild oral stimulation against the skin. Haptic sensors are fully functional, and I experience the contrast of cold air after…”_

“It works!” Curie melts relief, drips tension from her shoulders and exhales loud and gusty. Bites her lip as she pauses the recording, brows tilted in apology. “I am very sorry. I am pleased to learn I can reach second orgasm so quickly, but I think the recorder has derailed the mood? If you are okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Did you like?”

“Yes, very much.” Curie leans forward to give Nora a quick peck on the head. “I would like to do again. Not solely for research purposes. You fill me with… much delight. Many thoughts, many feelings. It was most difficult to concentrate on recording my observations.” She tilts her head, examining Nora with practiced eyes. The same assessment she gives a new strain of tato, or a promising research article. Though the way she traces the spiral of Nora’s ear is far gentler than any touch she’s given a plant or journal. “You appear aroused as well. Would you like me to perform cunnilingus upon you?”

“No, druther if you just held me for a bit. Let me touch myself, and you can make all the observations you want.”

Curie’s dimples flash as she smiles, tucking her hands under Nora’s armpits and guiding her onto the bed. “No further observations for tonight. I wish to experience you in your fullness.”

Nora collapses with a heavy _whumpf,_ muffling her sigh into a pillow. “Mm. The vibe, then? I’m feeling lazy.”

Curie giggles, one hand splayed across Nora’s shoulder as she leans across the bed to open the nightstand. Ass in the air, squeals when Nora squeezes the soft curve, but fishes out the vibrator and presses it into Nora’s hand. Kisses her soft and cool, warm hands slipping up Nora’s shirt to caress Nora’s breasts and belly as Nora works the vibrator over her own clit, Curie nuzzling the jiggle of her arms and murmuring sweet encouragement into her ear. Not long now-- Nora flicks it to the highest setting, the one that makes her fingers tingle. Clutches herself tight, mouth open and spilling moans into the night. Quick, sharp, sweet. Release of tension, dropping the vibrator on the nightstand and groaning when it rolls off onto the floor. When Curie sits up, Nora flops an arm across her. “Leave it.”

* * *

 

The next morning, Preston has the terrible responsibility of informing Curie that sex tapes, even for research purposes, are not suitable to be played at breakfast.


End file.
